and back to business
by Darst
Summary: Jazz is back from a difficult mission. Prowl wants his report... and a bit more.


\- Put your hands on the desk.

Jazz paused in the doorway, contemplating Prowls stern expression, slight tilt of his helm, his rigid stance and the subtle whir of his fans. His own fans kicked up a notch when he stepped into Prowls office and shut the door behind him.

\- Well?! - Prowls tone and posture didn't change.

Swallowing a grin, Jazz walked up to the desk and pressed his palms to the glossy surface of polished metal.

\- Further.

Jazz obliged, sliding his palms further to the far end of the table, bending over it until only few inches separated his hood from the desk.

Prowl's domination kink was about the size of Prowl himself and Jazz indulged him best as he could. Given a chance, Prowl would love to restrain and subdue his rebellious comrade, but Jazz loathed any form of physical restraint. It triggered his battle protocols and things got nasty in a split click. Prowl learned to make do with what he was allowed to do. Voluntary submission was as far as Jazz was willing to bend. Honestly, it was far enough.

Prowl regarded the saboteur sprawled across his desk and rose from his chair in one swift movement.

\- Spread your peds.

Again, Jazz's fans reacted before he himself did. He carefully stepped aside, one foot after the other.

\- Further.

Fans hiccuped and Jazz obeyed, spreading his legs so that his panel was fully accessible.

Prowl regarded the display. It was good, but not as good as he had planned. Yet.

\- Retract you panel, - it slid aside almost immediately, revealing a glistening slit of a port. Prowl brushed his knuckles across it and brought his hand up to examine the dampness on them. Jazz shivered and whimpered softly - a barely audible sigh.

\- All of it, Jazz - Prowl insisted with a frown coloring his commanding tone.

Jazz inhaled sharply and let the codpiece open too. His half-pressurized spike hit the desk with a soft "thum". Prowl reached around his chassis and gave it a swift tug before tucking the spike between Jazz's chassis and the desktop. Jazz whimpered louder and wiggled a little.

\- Keep those hands on the spot! - came a sharp order and the saboteur froze in place, feeling the slow flow of his own lubricant trickling down his own spike.

Prowl walked around the table and stopped in front of him. Jazz looked up only to find Prowl's own spike on the ready inches in front of his faceplate.

\- Is this what you desire? - came a demanding question and Jazz exhaled a single "yes", gaze fixed on the equipment in front of him.

\- Yes WHAT?!

\- Yes, Master - not too quiet, but still barely audible between the rage of Jazz ventilation fans and thrum of his engine and he tried to reach Prowl's spike without moving his hands.

\- YES, MASTER - WHAT?! - Prowl growled, moving half a step back and out of reach.

\- Yes, Master! Please, I need your spike in me, sir! - Jazz cried out louder, finally understanding what Prowl wanted of him.

\- Say it again. Louder. For the camera - Prowl nodded to the back of his office where a security camera was hanging from the ceiling - daringly obvious for anyone to see. He did switch it off before calling for Jazz, but there was no need in disclosing this information to the mech squirming in anticipation and need in front of him. Jazz had sort of a exhibitionist kink - a strange sort of kink where he both enjoyed being watched and dreaded to be caught in action. No, no need to tell him.

Judging by the way Jazz's gaze flickered aside he was trying to remember if the cam was on when he entered.

Prowl's palm cupped Jazz's helm and the saboteur blurted:

\- Please, Master, I want to be yours, I need your spike in me! - loud and clear alright.

\- Good mech. You shall have your wish.

Prowl planned to drag it on a little further but the sight of a needy whimpering mess of a Jazz in front of him was too much to bear. He swiftly walked around the table and shoved his spike inside with one powerful thrust. Jazz cried out.

Every move of the tactic's hips was accompanied of the saboteur's own spike getting squeezed between his chassis and the table, and Jazz moaned and cried both for pain and pleasure.

... ! - he murmured.

Prowl paused, causing a pitiful whimper.

\- What was it?

\- ...!

\- Louder! - a single thrust that nearly made Jazz's peds leave the floor but didnt' move his hands still.

\- harder!

\- Harder, WHAT?!

\- Please! Master! Frag me harder! - Jazz cried out loud.

There was more than one reason why Prowl's office was so thoroughly soundproofed.

Jazz finished first and collapsed on the table. Normally, that should have warranted a punishment, but they weren't quite there yet. Honestly, Prowl wasn't sure they would ever get quite there. Jazz was resilient. One of the few mechs in autobot command that dared cross him and sometimes even won an argument. Had he been weaker, this wouldn't be such fun.

Prowl followed suit and plopped himself on his chair before going under reboot. When he came to, Jazz was sitting on the table in front of him, feet dangling and smile... oh, such a tempting smile.

Prowl stood up.

\- You made a mess on my floor. Clean it up.

Jazz shrugged his shoulders:

\- Housekeeping is not my forte, - he flashed Prowl a smile that was definitely a dare.

Prowl grabbed his helm by the antennae and dragged him down to the floor, forcing to kneel in front of him. There was no mistake - Jazz was into it, otherwise Prowl would hardly be able to grab him. Prowl's half-deflated spike dragged a trail of transfluid across Jazz's faceplate. Jazz's fans hitched again and he froze.

\- Clean. this mess. up - Prowl used his best commanding voice.

\- Yes, Master - a faint whisper.

The tactic let him go and Jazz scurried away to grab a cloth and wipe a small pool of pearly-blue transfluid off the floor. Prowl turned away to clean up himself.

\- After you clean yourself, I'll have that report of yours.

\- Sure thing, bossmech, - grinned Jazz, and just like that they were back to business.


End file.
